


Runaway

by Morgana



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angelus, in the last moments before he became Angel</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runaway

The basket and baby were shoved into the hands of the first white woman he saw who wasn’t covered in blood or staring glassy-eyed in horror. Her questions were ignored and when she attempted to follow him, he whirled around and growled at her, yellow eyes glaring until she fell silent and clutched the infant close. Satisfied that the baby would be taken care of, he stalked off through the crowd, shouldering aside any who didn’t move out of the way quickly enough. Through it all, he heard the taunting words of his sire and mate, the disdain that had dripped from her words impossible to forget.

_“You disgust me.”_

Well, that made two of them. He was disgusted with himself, but he didn’t know if it was because he had been unable to do what she demanded of him or if it was because he hadn’t laid waste to the entire household when he had the chance. The soul had first whispered and then screamed out its demands that he do it: wrest the knife from his once-sire and start with her before disposing of his erstwhile children, first the brash boy and then the poor pitiful madwoman. He had pictured them falling to dust at his hands, even as he knew that if he had carried out that wish, he would have walked into one of the many blazing fires as soon as it was done.

It had been the image of his family scattered at his feet that had brought the demon forth. Ever since he had been souled, it had been almost totally unresponsive, and there were times he fancied he could feel it like a lead weight curled in the back of his mind, sullen and silent. But with the urging from the soul, it rose in fury, rattling against its cage and railing against the soul that leashed him. He could feel its anger, feel the need that clawed at him, that urged him to join the fray and take his rightful place as the head of the family. And he wanted it - dear God, did he want it! Only the crushing weight of guilt kept him from it, the soul pulling tight to keep the demon in check.

_"While Spike - Spike! - was out killing a Slayer you were saving missionaries!”_

How dare she throw that little prick up to him? He was never going to be half the vampire that Angelus was! Well, the vampire that he had been, he silently amended. Did she think he didn’t know, couldn’t smell him all over her? Oh yes, he was well-aware of what had gone on during his absence. Not that he’d really expected anything else. His dear Darla had never been one to let sentimentality stand in the way of practicality, and sex was no different. But to take that idiot boy into her bed when he'd barely left it! He should've hunted him down and pushed him into a burning building when he'd first had the thought, favoured childe or not.

Would the Slayer still be alive if he had? Was her blood on his hands now, her ghost now added to the multitudes that already haunted his dreams at night? Weak, always too weak to do what had to be done. Was he ever going to be able to do anything without the soul burning through him like fire? He wondered if the Slayer had been afraid, if her death had been the painful end that he had always advocated. He thought it probably had been - after all, his boy had obviously been trying to do him proud. It was too bad he didn't realize that the sire he'd wanted to please wasn't really here anymore.

_"I should kill you right now."_

It would have been a kindness. She had accused him of seeking her out because he was too scared to end his own existence, and she might have been right. He couldn't deny that there had been a flash of relief and gratitude when she had pressed the knife to his throat, and a small sense of disappointment when it was withdrawn. It had seemed so simple when he first thought of it - find Darla and beg to be allowed back. She would either kill him or accept him, but either way, it would be over. At least, that's what he'd thought. He'd forgotten to take the soul into account.

The soul, the damnable soul! It wouldn't allow him to be the vampire he knew he was, but it offered no alternative path, no other sense of anything beyond the burning and the guilt. He was a truly miserable creature, neither fish nor fowl but despised by both. When the word of his actions tonight got around, as he was sure it would, no place on the Continent would be safe for him. In the masses of frantic people, he heard one word spoken over and over again: America. It was as good a place as any to spend the rest of his miserable existence, he supposed.

_"Look at you. I don't know what you are anymore."_

Neither did he. But maybe in a new land, he could find out.


End file.
